send me away (with the words of a love song)
by images-in-words
Summary: "Santana curls the jacket more closely about her as she closes her eyes. It hadn't been Kurt's long enough for it to absorb his scent, and even though Finn's mother had lovingly washed it, the jacket still carried the unmistakable aroma of its original owner." Santana's thoughts about Finn, after Kurt gives her his jacket in the auditorium. Slightly AU.


**send me away (with the words of a love song)**

"Can you leave, please?"

Kurt suppresses a sigh as he rises to his feet from the floor of the dimly lit auditorium stage. It physically hurts him to see Santana, who has always been such a large presence, look so small, still sitting there. Her legs dangle over the edge of the stage, her arms cradled in her lap, the paper on which she had written her "embarrassingly nice" words about Finn still crumpled in one hand. She looks fragile, broken, as though the crack in her heart is rapidly spreading in all directions, threatening to spill out all her secrets and leave the truth of who she really is, so fiercely guarded for so long, all over for everyone to see.

He thinks about saying something, then decides against it, pursing his lips. Then it occurs to him that a gesture, a simple act of kindness, would mean more than anything he could possibly say now. So he slips out of Finn's well-worn, much-loved letterman jacket and places it around the girl's shoulders before turning silently to leave her to her thoughts.

As he walks away, he hopes it will bring her at least a little of the solace and comfort it's given him in the hours he's worn it – but he knows that Santana is not one who finds peace easily. Such moments have ever been rare for her.

Grateful for Kurt's understanding of her need for solitude, Santana curls the jacket more closely about her as she closes her eyes. It hadn't been Kurt's long enough for it to absorb his scent, and even though Finn's mother had lovingly washed it, the jacket still carried the unmistakable aroma of its original owner's body spray. She laughs mirthlessly to herself as she inhales deeply. She'd absolutely loathed that smell, and relentlessly made fun of Finn for his (excessive, in her judgment) use of it, but now it seemed like the most pleasant aroma in the world.

Her relationship with him had been...well, complicated, to say the least. He was a tall, goofy jock with a lopsided smile and an awkward sense of rhythm – which, it occurred to her, was strange for a guy who was actually a pretty decent drummer – and he wasn't the brightest bulb in the package, for sure. But what he did have, more than almost anybody she'd ever known, was heart. A big, dumb, sweet and generous heart that made him aggravatingly difficult to truly hate, even when he had said and done things that made her really, really _want_ to hate him.

That was what Quinn and Rachel had seen in him, once upon a time. They had loved him, _really_ loved him, and yet Santana was the one who had taken his virginity in a dingy motel room off the interstate in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio. Afterwards, he'd said that he didn't feel anything because it didn't _mean_ anything. That had hurt, but the truth was, she didn't feel anything either, and that was the final bit of proof she needed to know that she would never feel for boys the way she did for girls. In a way, he'd done her more of a favor than she'd claimed to have done for him.

He was the last guy she had slept with. The last one she would _ever_ sleep with.

 _He deserved better,_ she thinks bitterly. Not that it matters now.

Now that he's gone.

She doesn't understand it. She probably never will. In her mind, she wants to rail against the existential injustice of it all, the absolute fucking _unfairness_ of a world that brings people like Finn Hudson into it and then erases them in the blink of an eye after only nineteen years.

But she's tired, and worn out, and all her rage is gone, along with her tears. She just feels hollow now, empty, as though her insides have all been scooped out with a rusty spoon, leaving only an aching void where all her organs used to be. She barely registers the listless beating of her bruised, battered heart. It's hard to breathe, because she's been choking on anger and regret and pain for days now, ever since the time she'd heard Rachel screaming incoherently on the phone in the loft at four in the morning, the only understandable words amid the shrieking being _Finn_ and _why?_ before Kurt had taken it away from her to speak with his father in the quietest voice she'd ever heard him use, tears streaming down his face while he held Rachel tightly against his chest.

She looks down at the crumpled paper in her hand. Everything she'd written was true, and she really _had_ meant to say the words when she'd stood up in the choir room to sing for him. Yet it hadn't felt _right_ , at that last moment; it hadn't felt sincere, hadn't felt true. Finn would never have expected her to say anything nice about him. He would have expected her to keep her true thoughts and feelings to herself, hide them away from everyone else under the cover of a barrage of insults and inappropriate language. And he would have understood that. It would have been okay with him, because on some weird level, he'd always understood _her_.

He'd understood that his words would be the kick in the ass she needed to face up to her feelings for Brittany, to finally admit to herself what she'd been trying to deny for so long. She wanted to hate him for it, wanted him to feel what that realization had felt like for her, the sharp, shocking, stinging pain of it, when she'd slapped him that time right here in the auditorium. And because he understood that, and because he wanted the Glee Club to win and knew that they needed her to do it, he let his pride go and let her off the hook when they'd been hauled into Principal Figgins' office afterwards. He knew she didn't want a big, sappy apology or a gooey song in Glee. He knew that action was the way to make amends with her, not words.

What she wouldn't give to hear him say, or even sing, something to her now.

She thinks about how much she learned from a guy no one would have thought could teach anybody about anything - except maybe football and video games - all he'd shown her about loyalty and respect and really not giving a crap about what anybody else thought. She'd always talked a good game about how little regard she had for the opinions of others, but the truth was that she actually cared way too much about them. It was her fear of what people would say about her, if they knew who she really was, that had kept her alone, angry and miserable for so long; it was Finn's ultimate rejection of that fear that made her realize she didn't have to be a prisoner to it anymore.

Sure, he'd struggled with how being in the Glee Club had hurt his reputation at school at first, but it had taken remarkably little time for him to become completely committed to its survival, totally invested in its success. She saw how he threw himself into every song, every rehearsal, every clumsy, ungainly attempt at dancing, and though of course she would never admit it, she admired him greatly for it. If Rachel was the heart of the New Directions, then Finn was its soul. Like the song said, he simply never stopped believing: in the club, in the unlikely gang of losers and misfits that somehow became a family of best friends, in its mission of encouraging self-expression and finding unity through the joy of song.

In watching him find himself, she found her own way too. For that, Santana thinks, she owes him more than she could ever possibly repay.

She lets out a huge breath as she pushes herself to her feet to wander around the silent, empty stage. How many times had they all sung and laughed and cried together here? How many moments of sheer elation had lit this room more brightly than the lights above it ever could? How often had she looked over in one direction or another to see Finn give her that stupid little smile as they worked on choreography or sat on stools as they sang their hearts out to the rows of unoccupied seats, with Mr. Schue as their only audience?

Her mind reels as she flashes back to so many cherished moments, and she realizes just how devoid of good memories her high school days probably would have been if not for all those endless rehearsals and silly theme weeks, all those weird mash-ups and big power ballads. Glee had changed Finn Hudson for the better, and it had changed her too. He may have been, in her own words, a much better person than she was - but thanks to him and all those other quote-unquote _losers,_ she was a much better person than she'd ever thought she could be.

She knows she's crying yet again, but she doesn't care. She's still not quite used to allowing herself to feel things, let alone feel them this deeply, but that's another thing that's changed. She can't shut herself down anymore, can't wall herself off and exist in a state of denial. The girl who had once said things were better without feelings was gone too, long gone, and she has to admit that she doesn't miss that girl at all.

Wiping away her tears, she hugs the jacket around herself, imagining that the sleeves are actually Finn's arms, that he's holding her and telling her _it's okay._ They've been through so much together, experienced so many things, and now there are so many more things they'll never get to share, but she knows that Finn would be the first to quote some ancient rock song that says it's better to burn out than to fade away, or some shit like that.

Well, _fuck_ that. Burning out at nineteen? She'll take fading away at a ripe old age over burning out before she's even old enough to vote, thank you very much.

Still, if there's one thing she's learned from all of this, it's not to take anything for granted. These people, these memories, the love she's received even when she felt she didn't deserve it – all of them can be taken away in a second, gone as if they'd never existed at all. Finn didn't die without everyone knowing exactly how he felt about them, and it's a stunning, sobering realization for Santana to know that if she were to expire right here, right now, she would do so without all those people still sitting there in the choir room knowing just how much they mean to her, how completely grateful she is for their presence in her life.

No. Hell no. It's not going to go down like that.

She's going to turn around and march right down the hallway into that room and tell each and every one of them how fucking much they matter to her, how much she appreciates every single moment she's ever spent with them, every single thing they've ever done for her. She's going to spill her guts and puke up her heart and make sure that none of them ever, _ever_ forget that Santana Lopez loves the hell out of them.

As soon as she remembers how to make her feet move. As soon as she can stop shaking and crying and _feeling_ so damned much.

She's standing there in the middle of the stage, lost in a moment that feels like an age, when suddenly she hears the door open and creak shut again. Soft footsteps approach her, and she knows who's here without even opening her eyes.

"Santana?"

Her throat is raw, her eyeballs feel like they've been sandblasted, and her knees tremble as she croaks out her reply.

"Rachel."

"Everyone's asking about you in the choir room. Kurt said you needed your space, and I...I waited as long as I could, but...I couldn't stay in there anymore without knowing if you were all right."

Santana opens her eyes, blinks. The girl looks at her with an expression of grave concern, brow furrowed, mouth turned down in a slight frown. She looks like a tiny brunette angel, wearing the serenity of her grief like a halo, and all Santana can think is, when did Rachel become this beautiful?

"I'm...I'm trying to deal. It's just...it's just so _hard,_ you know? He...Finn was my friend too, you know? I didn't show it a lot, I know, but...I cared about him. I really did."

"He cared about you too, Santana. He told me more than once that he was glad you were living with me. Did I ever tell you that? He said that no one could keep me on my toes like you, and that if anyone was ever going to make sure that I achieved all my goals and dreams, it would be you, because you loved me as much as he did."

Santana's breath catches in her throat. _How did he - ?_ "He – he really said that?"

Rachel nods. "He did." She doesn't miss the expression of wonder on Santana's face. "He knew you better than you thought."

"I – wow. I don't know what to say. When...when did he tell you that?"

"After you told him about...about everything that was going on with Brody. Except, you know, the one thing."

Rachel pauses, watching Santana's face as she takes this in. Then she continues, "He told me he'd never heard you so angry before. He said you wanted to kick Brody's butt yourself, but you'd just gotten your nails done and didn't want to break one, so you asked him to beat him up for you, and that you were all like, 'no one disrespects my little hobbit but me!'"

Heat colors Santana's face as she remembers that conversation.

Rachel smiles even as tears pool in her deep brown eyes. "I told him I could never condone violence, but it was very sweet that you felt so strongly about defending my honor that way."

A small hand slips into one of Santana's, squeezes lightly. She feels the light touch of Rachel's lips on her cheek, and her entire body warms at the sensation.

"Things were long over between Finn and I by that time, Santana. He agreed that we had grown apart, and that we should move on and find more...compatible partners. I was also coming to learn certain things about myself then as well."

"Certain...things?" Santana hates the tone of hopefulness in her voice, but she's far too tired to fight it at this point.

"We don't really need to discuss it right _now_ , but I think you'll find it most...enlightening over, say, coffee at the Lima Bean?"

She doesn't even have it in her to scoff at the implications of what Rachel's saying. The widening of her eyes and the upward curl of her lips have already betrayed her anyway.

"Um...yeah. Coffee at the Lima Bean sounds...really, really good, actually. But first? I...I think I have some things I want to say to everybody."

Rachel's smile widens. She steps forward with Santana's hand still in hers, and in moments, only echoes and memories are all that's left of their presence.


End file.
